Unreturned
by Jessica237
Summary: JC. He'd stolen your heart with no intention of ever giving it back, and you want so badly to hate him for that. Post 7x01, Calleigh angst.


**Title: **Unreturned**  
By:** Jessica**  
Pairing:** Jake/Calleigh**  
Rating:** T  
**Summary: **He'd stolen your heart with no intention of ever giving it back, and you want so badly to _hate_ him for that. Post 7x01, Calleigh angst.

* * *

There once was a time, though it feels an eternity ago, when you used to curse the very light of dawn. Despite being such a morning person, you can remember all too clearly those days you wished the sun just wouldn't rise, the days you wished the night before could last forever.

As the earliest rays of sunlight peeked through your sheer curtains, they would dance upon your still-closed eyelids, pulling you all too abruptly from the realm of dreams in which you would've been so contented to stay. With a displeased, sleepy groan, you would burrow into the warmth that surrounded you, the answering chuckle sounding so sweet to your ears, so much better than all the other signs of morning.

Sunlight. Chirping birds. Alarm clocks. There once was a time that you hated them all, because it could all only mean one thing, and that was awakening. The start of a new day; the end to a blissful night. It signified getting up and going to work; it required leaving the arms which had snugly held you long before you'd fallen asleep. It meant counting down twelve long hours – sometimes agonizingly more, sometimes blissfully less – until you were free to feel that kind of warmth once again.

His chest was always preferable to any fluffy pillow upon your bed; the warmth of his arms always superior to any blanket. They kept you warm when you were cold, yet smother you they did not during the hottest, stickiest of summer nights. They were always just…perfect.

But now the only arms that wrap around you are your own, and fight away the chill within they do not. An unworthy shield, your arms are merely a mockery to the heartache, to the darkness, to the sheer length of the empty night.

You can't remember a time that the nights had _ever_ felt so long.

A quick glance to the clock reveals a time merely past one in the morning, only ninety-seven minutes and forty-one seconds – you've been counting meticulously since your head hit the pillow – since you turned off the lamp on your bedside table and began your fruitless battle for sleep once again. But every second feels like an hour; every hour, an eternity. Your eyes simply will not close; it's as though your mind is suddenly energized, though your body is anything but. Your body craves rest, _needs_ rest after being deprived of it for so, so long.

But the demons in your mind care not about your aching limbs, your burning eyes, your broken heart – no, they are wide awake and all too ready to play.

And play they do, like clockwork, every single night.

Shivers consume your body, even though you burrow as deeply into the covers as you can. You could search for the warmth you need until you collapsed with exhaustion, but you would never find it. Instead, what you find during your fruitless search is always the same memory, the same one that you'd give anything to bury away for good. You're meticulous about remembering things, but once, just this once, you'd give anything for a bout of amnesia; you don't want to remember him like that.

Your last memory of him _shouldn't_ be _that one._

You shouldn't have a _last_ memory of him at all.

But you do. And it's nothing but utter _agony_, because you're left lingering on everything you couldn't do, everything you couldn't say to him. You grew up with the knowledge that the past was the past; no matter what happens, it can't be changed – you can't go back. Angry words spoken in the heat of anger, mistakes made on the job where your mind was momentarily elsewhere, even the little things like not checking the traffic report before heading out in the mornings – once it's done, that's it. And that has always been your philosophy – you can't change the past, leaving no point in lingering on it when you _can_ change the future.

But now, all you do is linger on the past, because it's all you have left.

And even you can't just ignore the greatest mistake of your life.

His words reverberate in your mind, over and over again. The heavy silence that preceded his most heartfelt wish had permeated the air, and even now you can feel it crushing your lungs, leaving you unable to catch your breath, unable to fight the burning in your chest that isn't all just from the lack of oxygen. You can't close your eyes without seeing him, standing there before you and laying his heart on the line, and just the very memory makes your own heart clench so very tightly.

It always hits you like a blow to the chest, the realization that those were the last words you ever heard him speak. One last desire.

_"I was kinda hoping that you would wait…"_

But how many times in the past had you made a similar request of him? How many times had you asked him to stay, only to watch him turn his back on you, yet again? How many times had he left you reaching out to him, your heart broken into tiny pieces as he walked away from you?

How could Jake Berkeley _ever_ think he could ask that of you now?

And yet, despite all the heartbreak he'd ever left you with, you couldn't stop your heart from crying out to him. Wanting him, needing him, knowing deep within the farthest parts of your heart the one truthful response to his one last wish, the one you wanted so desperately to grant.

But you've never allowed your heart to control your voice. Instead, your spoken words conveyed just the opposite; the opposite of what you wanted, _needed_. You cleared your face of all trace of emotion – tried to, anyway – and looked him unwaveringly in the eye, letting a quickly yet carefully crafted lie tumble almost effortlessly from your lips. You're a quick thinker; you _never_ let yourself be put on the spot.

And so you said no. Said you were tired of waiting, sick of worrying, frustrated with wondering. You couldn't live your life with that kind of fear, that kind of uncertainty.

And yet, what else _have_ you done since that fateful day? You worry about him; you wonder about him. And though you are loathe to admit it, as you lay here in your bed through the dark hours of the night, you're waiting for him. He fills your thoughts twenty-four hours a day, from the moment you take your first sip of coffee in the mornings – you think of the unopened box in your closet, the expensive coffeemaker you'd bought on impulse two weeks after he'd stopped answering your calls, the one you can't even look at now because it reminds you so painfully of the half-flirtatious, half-serious conversation you'd shared with him during a case so long ago – to the moment you go to bed at night, your heart aching too much to sleep in his shirts, but aching too much _not_ to as well. And the dreams, oh the dreams…

By trying to save yourself, you instead walked right into an inescapable trap; by trying to save your heart, you instead plunged the knife through it yourself. Plunged it in, twisted it mercilessly, then pulled it out only to do it again and again.

And you should've known better. All the warning signs were there, everything you needed to convince yourself that this was just utterly, completely _wrong._ Wrong for you, wrong for him. And _you should've known, _if not from the way your heart fluttered wildly as he softly cupped your cheek, then from the way the butterflies suddenly came alive in your stomach as his lips caressed your skin, one last time. You thought you wanted to push him away, but all you really wanted was to turn your head and bring your lips to his. But you were frozen – he'd always been able to leave you speechless, unable to move.

His touch sent sparks racing through your body, just like every other time.

The touch of his lips left you trembling; the warmth of his breath against your skin left you with an empty chill from the moment you could no longer feel it.

The smile he gave you, that very last smile you ever saw him give, it melted you. Melted you, left you waiting brokenly for him to scoop you into his arms, an embrace that would never, ever come.

And the look in his eyes…

He'd sacrificed his job and risked his life for you, and even though you'd told him it was too little, too late, the truth was there in his eyes, those deep, gorgeous eyes of his – given the same predicament, Jake would've done it all over again.

He'd finally, _finally_ chosen _you._

And yet, you didn't change your answer. You're Calleigh Duquesne, and you don't change your mind once you've made your decision. Even if it means putting yourself through such unimaginable pain, like the ache that set up in your heart as you told him no.

You thought you were saving your heart from the inevitable, because he never did _anything_ but break your heart.

Instead, you did that _for_ him this time.

And if the haunted look in his eyes was any indication, your heart wasn't the only one left in pieces on the dusty ground.

He walked away from you, leaving you dying, just dying to call out to him, to run to him and stop him, to leap into his arms and never let him let you go.

But you didn't. You kept silent, listening to the agonizing thud that his feet made on the floor below as he walked away once more. He didn't look back, and you didn't look after him, though it destroyed what was left of your heart not to.

Days, weeks, months – you don't know how much time has passed since that day, the last time he walked away from you.

And now_ you_ want to walk away.

Lost in this unending agony, you wish you could let him go; you wish you held the ability to free yourself from the pain. Apparently you can hold your own in a shootout; you can save yourself from kidnappers; you can pull yourself out of the stickiest of situations, all on your own. But from this, you can't save yourself; Lord knows you've tried. You just..._can't_. Can't walk away, can't let go, can't even begin to heal.

You'd give anything to be free for once in your life. Free from the worry, free from the terror, free from the inexplicable hold Jake Berkeley has always had upon your heart.

Because if you could only do that, you _know_ you could be happy. It's right there in front of you, the happiness that always seems to dance just outside of your grasp. All you'd have to do is close and lock one door forever. The other door is already wide open for you, a fact that you've been made aware of far too many times already. But somehow, stepping through to the other side is impossible.

You can see his face, his eyes gazing through to you on the other side of that proverbial door, but your feet feel oh so heavy. Like concrete. You can't move, as much as you wish you could.

And he can't come through and save you either.

You _know_ you're breaking his heart.

The guilt eats away at you, a slow, agonizing ache in the very deepest part of your heart. He's so different than you; never has he tried to hide his feelings. You've known how he has felt since the very beginning, and if it were up to you and your now disenchanted illusion of the perfect storybook romance, that should've been enough.

Because despite the few questionable moments in his past – moments he's verbalized his own embarrassment about – a man like that is one in a million. Maybe one in several billion. You know you've certainly never found another man so willing to do whatever it takes to win your heart.

Eric Delko would give you heaven and earth if only you would ask.

The problem, though, is simple. Obvious. You don't _want_ heaven and earth, unless it's the kind of heaven you once found on an earth of pure white sand, deep blue waves in the backdrop, the enticing aroma of coconut and seasalt permeating the air.

And that kind of heaven isn't something Eric Delko could ever really give you, no matter how much you wish he could.

He _could_ take you to Antigua. He could sway you gently in his arms out on the balcony under the light of the full moon. He could make love to you while the soft night breeze teases the sheer white drapes, the glow from the moonlight bathing your bodies with an ethereal light; while the quiet melody of sighs and hushed murmurs meld so perfectly with the gentle cadence of the waves breaking on the shore below.

He could recreate _every_ moment, but no matter how much you tried, it would never be enough for you.

Your heart made up its mind years before Eric ever walked into your life; and you, you're left powerless to defy it. All the reason and logic in the world could never be enough to make you forget that Eric isn't Jake, _your_ Jake.

The one thing that would truly make you happy is the one thing that Eric can't be.

And it _kills_ you; it truly does.

If you _could_ give your heart to Eric, you would.

But it just isn't yours to give. Hasn't been yours to give since the first time you felt _his_ eyes roaming your body; since the first time _his_ silky voice left you trembling with desire. He'd stolen your heart with no intention of ever giving it back, and you want so badly to _hate_ him for that.

Because you _could_ be happy with Eric.

_He_ just won't let you.

Every time Eric held you, you would feel someone else's arms around you.

Every time he kissed you, you would taste someone else.

And every time he declared his love for you, you would close your eyes, imagining the words in another voice, the only voice that had ever sent those delicious shivers racing down your spine and through your entire body.

You close your eyes – you can almost see him, feel him, even taste him now. Your tongue flicks out over your lips on utter instinct, and the disappointment that you really _can't_ taste him there, that it's been weeks, months, practically forever since he last kissed your lips crashes into you with a force that would bring you to your knees if you'd been standing. As it is, the realization sends a violent shudder through your body, leaving you feeling cold and oh so alone.

You never thought it would be possible to miss him this damn much. To miss him so badly that everything just _hurts. _But you do; you miss him with every part of you; you miss every part of _him_, everything about him. His kisses, his voice, his unruly dark locks, his eyes, _everything. _Your eyes remain resolutely closed as the memories flash through your head; faded, somewhat, but you can still see and hear and _feel, _and if you can delude yourself just enough, the memories could be enough to carry you through the rest of the night.

And if you concentrate hard enough, you can _almost_ feel his lips caressing your throat in that way of his that's not too gentle, but not too rough either. Just right; just enough to make you squirm, make you whimper.

You can almost feel his stubble tickling your skin as he kisses you, granting you the one greater necessity to life - your life, at least - than oxygen.

His hands on your body, so gentle in all the right places, just the right amount of lingering pressure in the rest.

The musical cadence of your name leaving his lips as your bodies come together so intimately, so completely. Bodies, hearts, _and_ souls. The way your body shivers at the delectable sensation of being one with him, a sense of completion you've never found without him.

It's all so real, _so_ real, and your heart responds as though it were more than just a fantasy, more than just your deepest, most locked away desire. The quickened beat pounds against your chest; butterflies go wild in your stomach, and it's all you can do to stop yourself from reaching out to him. Reaching out, and grasping little more than empty air. You'd almost swear he was right there with you; you'd almost swear you can feel his hard body as it covers yours, skin slicked with sweat as he pushes you to the edge of sanity, the edge of bliss. His arms surround your trembling body, holding you close as you bury your face against his shoulder, crying out his name. He whispers, soothing you back down with his silky voice, his mouth teasing at any patch of creamy skin he can reach. You're left struggling for breath, your limbs like jelly as your dazed eyes flutter open, your heart skipping a beat or maybe two – your mind isn't working well enough to count – as you take in the cocky smirk upon his lips.

_That_ smirk. The one that makes you shiver and whimper aloud because you know he's only going to take you right back to that precipice again and again and _again._

You _love_ that smirk.

You love the cocky, overconfident, sometimes arrogant bad boy on the outside.

And more than that, you love the sweet, caring, gentle man underneath all of that.

You love _him._

You've _always_ loved him.

But it doesn't matter now, you realize as you clutch his pillow to your chest, desperate to numb the empty ache within. It's a poor substitute for his body, though; his scent has long since faded from the fabric, and never did it really hold the same warmth of his arms – it was easier to pretend in the beginning, though. Easier to pretend that he was coming home; easier to pretend that he'd soon hold you again.

Easier to pretend that he spent his nights thinking about you, wanting you, _needing_ you. Easier to pretend that one day he'd waltz back into your life without any consideration to what you said before - much as he'd done in the past - and declare the invalidity of your answer. The idea that Jake would _ever _take no for an answer is all but ridiculous to you; as you know him, you could've almost expected - almost, but not quite, to your immense dismay - him to strut right back into your lab and grunt out an _"Unacceptable," _before taking your mouth in a knee-weakeningly passionate kiss.

You'd closed your eyes, wishing for him to do exactly that.

But he was gone. Out of your life once more, deliberately forgetting to return to you the piece of your heart he'd stolen years ago.

And now for a third time you find yourself facing the nights without him, left alone with your bruised heart and the many, many mistakes you've made over the past decade when it comes to Jake Berkeley; the mistakes you keep making, despite knowing the inevitable heartache each and every one will leave you with.

You walked out of his life the first time. You walked away and shared your bed only with tears for the months to come before finally building up a facade strong enough to carry you to Miami.

Ten years later, you found yourself back in his bed, his heart, only to walk away yet again, this time after scathingly comparing him to your alcoholic father. You walked away again, and this time you only found desperation and heartwrenching worry every time you dialed his number only to find it disconnected.

Some people aren't lucky enough to get a second chance at love.

And you managed to screw up even a _third_ chance. Three times you held the key within your hands. You could've stayed in New Orleans the first time, waiting for him. You could've been less quick to draw the line the second time. And the third time…all you had to do was say yes.

Three letters; one syllable. One word that would've said _everything_.

It wouldn't have saved you from all the pain - he'd still be gone and you still wouldn't know when he'd be home. But at least you would've known he was fighting like hell to get home to you. At least you would've known that he had a reason to come home, something to come home to.

And at least _he_ would've known the truth.

He would've known even from a quiet declaration of _"I'll wait for you,"_ that what you really meant was _"I love you."_

Blinking rapidly, you fight back the tears that threaten to swamp you – won't there ever come a time when you'll have cried _enough_ for this man? It hasn't happened yet in ten years' time, and from the agony that consumes you completely, you don't see it ever happening, not now. You're irrevocably in love with him, and unless you are _with _him, you're left with nothing but tears and regrets and the realization that all of it always comes much too late.

You can finally admit it to yourself – your heart belongs to him. With everything you are, you _love_ him.

But you're still too late.

And he's still gone.

Possibly forever.

And you, you're left alone; all alone with only the ghost of his memory as your one eternal companion.

And as you roll onto your side and catch once more the bright numbering on the bedside alarm, you find that not even the realization that first light now lurks barely an hour away can offer you any relief now.

Because while the morning sun may chase away the night, you know the darkness in your heart will remain forevermore.


End file.
